I’m writing this post on a Saturday and I’ve spent most of the day cleaning the house. I walked downstairs on Thursday, looked around and went, “Ugh!” It just needed a thorough sprucing and with spring more or less here (it’s rained a lot in September), it seemed like the most appropriate time to get it done.

I’m not saying my partner and I are slobs, or that we live in filth, or we’re perpetually untidy. We’re just busy people and clearing a few things off the kitchen table generally satisfies any greater need to get down on our hands and knees and scrub the floors.

But I digress. I handled the washing and the upstairs rooms, while my partner took the fridge and the downstairs floors. Over a couple of hours we steadily went through our rooms, throwing rubbish in the recycling, putting books and papers away that had been left out for far too long, cleaned the floors, hung out the washing, vacuumed, put clothes in their proper places and tidied, tidied, tidied.

It was while I was cleaning the bathroom that I thought, if only I cleaned as I went, I wouldn’t have to sacrifice five precious Saturday hours on this task. And this is where the connection to writing comes in (I know you were getting anxious to find out what the point was).

I often resist writing because of how I build it up in my head. Starting a new chapter isn’t just about getting that chapter done, it’s about the chapters after it and how it fits into the whole. Editing one scene isn’t about that 500-1000 words; it’s about the other 50,000 still to go. Eventually, the point comes where I can’t resist any longer and I begin and when I raise my head after three hours I think, “That wasn’t so bad. What was I worried about?”

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE the periods of flow and they come on frequently. What I’m getting at is the mammoth nature of the task in my head and how different it would be if I just broke it down and took it slow. A little bit here, a little bit there. For me, 500 words is all I need to convince myself to start with, the urge (and the guilt) to write kicks in and I’m away.

500 words a day.

It’s like a mantra. I should pin it up on my wall. Right beside another that says, “cleanliness is next to godliness.” Then I might make better use of my time and use it write.

And now that I’ve finished cleaning for the day? Well, my desk is clear of everything except a pen and 300 pages of printed manuscript, ready to be edited. Or should that be cleaned up?